You Before Me
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Started as a series of one-shots - Red/Liz encounters that I would love to see. Now I'm expanding the one-shots into chapters. All (at least hinting) at Lizzington of course!
1. Chapter 1

Here it is…a series of one shots I would love to see…all (hinting) at Lizzington of course.

Xxx

'Lizzie,' he says, ambling towards her. His deep voice rumbles. Resonates.

'What,' she replies, looking down, her eyes and the toe of her boot suddenly interested in an invisible smudge in the floor. He was here to chastise her, reprimand her for taking on an unnecessary risk. She's sure of it.

'Lizzie,' he says it again. He stops in place. Waits for her to meet his gaze.

'Yes,' she says, looking up. The look on her face is distant. Detached he thinks.

He walks the remaining distance and pulls her into a one armed embrace.

She feels the smooth fabric of his shirt, his mouth by her ear.

'I'm glad you're ok,' he whispers.

Xxx

Her hair is coming down from its hasty ponytail. Sweat runs down her face and dampens her black tactical shirt and pants. Her bulletproof vest emblazoned with FBI is still strapped snugly around her torso.

She stands against the cool cement block wall. Puts her hands on her upper legs and bends slightly at the waist. Tries to catch her breath. Rests a minute before going back in.

She hears the screeching of tires on the wet pavement outside. A car door slams and then another. The exterior door to the warehouse swings open and in strides Red. Blue pinstripe shirt and cream vest immaculate despite the surroundings.

'Lizzie,' he says. Jovial tone at odds with the stress evident on his face.

'So glad I caught you.'

He's at her side now. Moves to take her arm in his. Lead her back to the car.

'Red, what are you doing?' She jerks her arm away leaving a black smear across Red's otherwise perfect shirt.

'Something has come up,' he says, 'Elsewhere. Let's hop in the car. I'll fill you in on the details.'

'Red, what are you doing?' She repeats herself. 'This is an operation. You gave us his name.' She raises her eyebrows questioningly and turns away before shooting him an exasperated look over her shoulder.

'No Lizzie,' he says it again. 'They,' he gestures broadly in the direction of the building, knowing the rest of her team is still inside, 'can take it from here.'

'Red,' she says. Anger beginning to sharpen her voice. She reaches down and looks to check her weapon and starts to stride towards the interior door.

He advances towards her quickly.

She looks up, feels her body spin, and finds herself staring straight at Red's mouth. She struggles for a second, disoriented, realizing that he has her hands pinned above her head. His hands are encircling her wrists, not letting her move.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. Each inhale pressing his midsection more firmly into hers. He feels her heart beating double time against his chest. Realizes, so out of place, that he's never been this close to her.

'Red,' she's almost yelling now. 'Let. Me. Go.'

He doesn't move his hands from around her wrists. Clears his throat and looks down at her. 'It's not safe,' he says. Knowing she could have saved herself, probably. Then why is he here? He dismisses the thought as quickly as it came.

'Clear, clear.' They hear Ressler's voice from somewhere in the interior. The mission is over.

Red steps back now. Drops her arms. Turns and walks back outside.

She rubs her wrists together, still feeling his touch. Stares after him. Why?

Xxx

She jumps. He's on her couch again. She didn't hear the door open. Yet there he sits. Black overcoat still buttoned up but with his hat in his hand. Tapping his knee. His nervous tell, she thinks absently.

'I'm sorry.' He says it into the darkness, her form still in the shadow.

'You shouldn't have interfered,' she says it quietly. 'It's my job,' she adds, moving into the dull light. 'I know what I'm doing, that's why you picked me.' The last part sort of a question but not really.

'I know.' He looks weary. Exhausted.

'So, why?'

A hesitation.

'I was afraid.'

She doesn't know what to do with that.

'I didn't know you felt fear?' She says it lightly, as a joke. Maybe.

He stares past her now. Into the shadow of the kitchen.

'I didn't either.'

Xxx

'Red,' she says it softly. Reaches one hand over and starts to rub his shoulder. Her action surprising even her. She hadn't planned it, any of it, this magnetic pull.

He shouldn't let her do this…the thought flickers across his mind before he squashes it.

'We'll find them,' she says it even though she doesn't know if they will or not. It's what he needs to hear.

She moves over and starts massaging with both hands now. Knots and tension disappearing beneath her fingers. She can feel his muscles relax.

'Thank you Lizzie,' his words are muffled. His face still in his hands.

'For what?' She wonders. The massage? The words? The…

'…for being here.' He reads her mind.

Xxx

He sees her across the parking lot. Her back is turned. Can't see her face.

He approaches her quickly, a celebratory bounce in his step. Number twenty seven has been a doozy to catch but the team has prevailed.

'Well done Lizzie,' he says. She doesn't turn so he repeats himself. Maybe she didn't hear?

He moves to step around her and his breath catches. She holds a baby in her arms. New and small and scared. A survivor.

She looks at him, a pleading look in her eyes. She can't do this. Not right now. It's too close.

'Let me,' he says, takes the baby from her, cradling it securely in his arm. Naturally. Puts his other arm around her shoulders. Pulls her close. Into him.

'Shh,' he says, rocking them all back and forth. 'It's all going to be ok.'

Xxx

It's the same now as it used to be. He brings the names. She listens. They catch the bad guys. All on the same team, but not really.

The days run into each other and summer turns into fall turns into winter.

She is tired. So, so tired. Burning out.

It's cold when she arrives home. Her boots crunch in the snow on her front step. She searches for her key in her bag. Finds it, walks inside.

She smells it before she sees it, all real and free, a fire is burning in her fireplace.

Looking past the living room she sees food laid out on the kitchen table.

Startled she turns back towards the door. Sees the note taped just under the peephole. 'Take the night off,' it says. The ink is red and familiar.

Xxx

Number thirty two involves a ploy. Red needs an agent by his side, again. Of course it's her, again.

He whistles as she walks toward the car. Drags his gaze up and down her body. The dress brings out the color of her eyes. That's what he says anyway.

Inside the backseat she stares out the window. The sedan's engine humming through the streets. He hands her a drink. Vodka rocks. She has it all down by the time they reach the highway.

'Who am I tonight,' she finally asks.

'Who do you want to be?' He answers her. Probably not the best question.

'Your fiancé.' The twinkle in her eye contagious. Is it the vodka speaking?

'Really?' He smiles back. He really shouldn't.

"Really,' she says.

'Well, you'll need this,' he says, giving in and handing her the box.

"Red," she gasps. Surprise evident in her voice. 'It's beautiful…I can't even tell it's a fake, and I've...'

'It's not,' he interrupts.

'Not what?'

'Not fake. It's real.'

Something flutters and she settles back in her seat.

Xxx

She's nervous now. Never been in a situation quite like this one. For Red, not with him.

'It's just a drop,' he says. 'Simple really, go in, make contact, pick up the bag.'

'But there's so much at stake this time.' She says it quietly. Left hand worrying over her scarred right wrist.

'Now, now Lizzie, you've done this a hundred times,' he says it casually but somehow she is sure he knows it's the truth.

She steels herself, feels her pulse quicken and then slow.

He leans over. Places both hands on the sides of her face and kisses her soundly on the mouth.

'Better?' He asks.

She says nothing, mouth agape. Speechless.

'You looked like you needed a little distracting,' he says with a smirk. An excuse.

'Red!' She sounds indignant but he can't help but see the smile on her lips as she turns away and walks into the room.

He grins.

Xxx

'Red,' he spins around to see her entering the restaurant behind him. Funny, he thinks, he didn't expect her here.

She walks up to him, puts her arm in his, turns towards the rear of the room. The dining room is crowded. Friday night.

'Let's go.' She says.

'Lizzie,' he turns a bit, looks at her quizzically. 'You don't have to do this, you know. He's just an old friend, from…'

'...from when your life was real?' She finishes his sentence quietly. 'I know,' she continues.

How, he wonders?

'I should do this alone.' He says it more to himself than to her.

Tugging on his arm she plants a soft kiss on his cheek. 'But your not alone,' she says, to him. 'You have me.'

Looking down he smiles and leads her into the room.

Xxx


	2. Chapter 2

So…I am going to attempt to expand the one-shots into little stories…we'll see how it goes. Let me know what you think :)

Xxx

He knocks first but lets himself in this time. Figures that he can do that now, after everything that's happened. Stepping into the entryway he sees the day's mail stacked neatly on the side table and the newspaper, still in its plastic sleeve, sitting on the floor beside it. She's going through the motions, he thinks, everything tangible in its place in an effort to compensate for the internal chaos. He knows these tendencies well. He removes his coat, and then, with a moment of hesitation, his tie as well, hanging them both neatly over the closest chair. He feels at peace here, despite it all, in her home.

He hears her before he lays eyes on her. The movement is muffled but definite, footsteps coming down the hall. He sees a glimpse of her now, hair up and clothes baggy, her sweatshirt pulling to one side. She stops when she sees it's him. If she's surprised at all to see him standing in her home she doesn't show it.

"Lizzie," he says, his voice low, rumbling in the shadows. His chin pulled to his chest, eyes softened by concern.

She turns away from him. Doesn't want him to see her face.

"Lizzie," he says it again, barely audible this time, the pitch so low it fades in with the night.

She stands there, not addressing him but not retreating either. He takes that as a good sign. Pauses. He's not sure why he's here. The overwhelming urge to drive to her new apartment coming on suddenly in the middle of the evening, in the middle of a meeting. He had to drive himself, a novelty for him, resulting in a false sense of normalcy. Driving to a place that feels like home. He shuts down that line of thinking before it begins. The calm he feels with her haunting his dreams of late.

She hears him but doesn't move. It's all been too much lately. First Sam, then everything that went down with Tom. The encounter and the recovery. She rubs her shoulder absently, the wound still hearing.

He stops his approach, watches her hand reach up, seemingly of its own volition, and begin to massage her shoulder. He's sure the muscles are still tight from the repair. He's had a few bullets removed himself, but it's different when it's her. The pain…is more pronounced.

He looks out her window at the empty street. The only light coming from a solitary streetlamp and the only sound coming from the steady rain. It's rained a lot lately, he thinks absently.

His thoughts travel back to that night and he winces involuntarily. Sees her lying in the street. The blood pooling around her. Remembers the fear he felt, hot and cold and all encompassing. Remembers running to her side and acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, going through the motions automatically. The thought of losing her blocking out everything else.

He remembers the rage he felt when he found out who was responsible for her state. For letting it get that far. For not taking Tom out earlier, when he had the chance. He had wanted to let it play out, let her discover her husband's deceit on her own, as foolish a plan as that could be…left her with a hole in her shoulder on a deserted road. Much like the one outside.

"Lizzie," he tries one last time, walking to her side this time. Not touching her. He doesn't know what to expect when he looks at her, but he knows it's not this. Not the blank look she gives him. A look devoid of, well, anything. A look he has seen staring back at him from the mirror many a time.

He retreats back across the room and settles down in the blue armchair by the door. He knows she won't listen to him, but will know he's there. Sometimes not being alone is the only thing that can…sustain.

Xxx

The end of the week dawns sunny and bright. The city seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief that the rain has finally stopped. The sky blue and cloudless.

"I'm ready," she says while double-checking her weapon.

Number twenty-five is an easy mark. He planned it this way. Picked the counter fitter off the list and brought the specifics to the Post Office himself. He knew she wouldn't sit this one out, but at the same time she wasn't ready. She doesn't have enough left in her to exercise the caution necessary in any kind of situation.

The cars speed by on the overpass above their heads. The sound loud and white. The team readies themselves to enter the old warehouse. Ressler going back to check the monitors in the van.

She seems better out here, he thinks, in the controlled chaos of an operation. It's the purpose he's sure. A purpose to focus on, to distract from the new reality, a bad guy to catch. Good versus evil without blurred lines.

She watches him watching the building…but she knows he's really watching her. That's why he's here. She knows it now. He's worried about her. She tries to dismiss it, focused on the task at hand. Finds herself looking back at him. It's happened lately, she can't seem to let him fade.

His gloves are torn, she notices. It's out of character for him. His clothes are always impeccable in any circumstance. "Your glove," she says. Reaching out.

"What?" He looks down at his hands, not sure of what she is talking about.

"They're torn." She walks over and takes one of his hands in hers. Turns it palm side up so she can show him.

He looks back down and sees her hand in his, the contact catching him off guard, noticing the rip in the leather.

When he looks up she's already gone. Entering the building behind Ressler, weapon drawn. He's surprised he didn't hear her go.

Xxx

She sees the counter fitter. He's sitting at an old wooden desk, the kind that would seem more in place in an outpost in Africa than in an abandoned building in the district. He's young, younger than the photos in his file portrayed him, his hair curly and unruly. He's moving images about on the tablet screen in front of him, working with ease, moving and arranging. She watches him for a minute, waiting for the go signal to come through her earpiece.

Minutes pass and she hears the command come through, but it is to abort rather than to enter the room. She looks down briefly and then looks up to see that the counter fitter is on his feet, moving toward the door to the hallway. She watches him, aware that this wasn't in the plan, but not willing to give up her vantage point yet. She seems him rise up on the balls of his feet to peer through the peephole in the door and then free the bolt and swing the door open wide.

Two men enter the suite, both with less than concealed weapons under their coats. They shake hands with the counter fitter, sit down. She watches, curious about their next move, wondering why they are here.

Suddenly the counter fitter points to something behind him. A screen perhaps? It's out of her line of sight and she strains her head forward to see but it's of no use. All three men rise quickly and hurry to the door.

She's not willing to let him get away. Aware of the odds of three against one, and ignoring the stand down orders coming through her earpiece, she drops down into the room and enters the hallway in pursuit.

Xxx

It's late when they arrive back at the Post Office, the counter fitter escorted into a holding room by an armed guard, his associates having made their escape before she could get to them.

She watches the captive turn the last corner and then makes her way over to her office and closes the door. She knows Cooper will be here soon with a stern lecture and maybe the threat of suspension. She knows she should have followed orders, but doesn't really care. It all worked out in the end, right? Suddenly bone tired, she can't wait to get home to a warm bath with a glass of wine. Sleep seems possible tonight.

She hears the door creak open and turns toward the sound from her standing position behind the desk. She's ready to take on Cooper, or maybe he's sent Ressler. That would be just like Cooper, trying to feel her out before he got there. But neither of her coworkers are in the room when she looks up, just Red. Hat in hand and sleeves rolled slightly. He looks tired. She wonders if he'll sleep tonight or if it's as elusive for him as it is for her.

She holds her breath. She knows he'll be disappointed in her actions today. Surprised that she cares what he thinks. After everything of course.

"Lizzie," he says, ambling towards her. His casual movements in contrast to the serious note in his voice.

"What," she replies, looking down, her eyes and the toe of her boot suddenly interested in an invisible smudge in the floor. He was here to chastise her, reprimand her for taking on an unnecessary risk. She's sure of it.

"Lizzie," he says it again. He stops in place. Waiting for her to meet his gaze.

"Yes, Red," she says, looking up. The look on her face is distant. Detached even. But he sees something there, lingering behind the careful façade. Something looking back at him with longing…for what?

But, the question is all he needs.

He walks the remaining distance and pulls her into a one armed embrace.

She feels the smooth fabric of his shirt, his mouth by her ear.

"I'm glad you're ok," he whispers. His simple words full of meaning.

She flinches slightly, this being the first contact she's had with another human being since…well…since it all went down. She's not sure she feels comfortable with it, not ready to lean on anyone yet, so to speak.

Her life almost taken away from her in an ugly game of charades. Her husband, her partner, her lover…not any of those things after all. Her thoughts crash.

He stills but doesn't pull away. Just moves his hand up and down her back. Over her cotton shirt. Up then down. Lazily. Gently. Like he has no other place in the world to be. He can feel her breathe, the soft inhales and exhales warming his skin through his clothes. If she moves to push him away he'll stop. Give her space…but she doesn't.

She feels the walls start to crumble and all of it, all of the emotions of the last several weeks, the fear, the loss, the...is it...relief? They all flood her now and suddenly standing on her own is too much. She raises her arms, hesitantly at first, and puts them around his waist. Feels the muscles of his back flex. Lowers her head and leans in. Hears his heart beating, beating.

Time passes quickly or slowly, he isn't sure. He's just so grateful to have her there. To have her safe. The relief he feeling like a balm smoothing over the panic that springs up inside of him when he thinks of her…when he thinks of her.


	3. Chapter 3

She walks into his hotel suite. Somehow she gets in without a knock or a key. One high heeled foot in front of the other. A naughty look on her face. She's wearing lipstick, he notices, blood red and beckoning to him.

She sashays this way and that, moving in and out of the light from the floor lamp, taking her time walking over to the upholstered wingback chair where he sits. Takes her time, her hips moving this way and that. Never breaking eye contact with him. Her eyes are so blue.

Her coat is black of course. It would be. A trench coat of sorts, belted at the waist. She stops in front of him now. Looks down into his eyes. He swears he can hear a purr coming from her lips. Or maybe it's a growl. Either way, he can't tear his eyes away from her.

She slips one hand under the trailing end of her canvas belt. Gives it a little tug.

Oh, he's been anticipating this. He reaches up, not to help her, just to touch.

"No, no, no," she scolds him. Her voice slow and full. Wags her finger back and forth. Back and forth. Her nails are red and lacquered. They match her lips he thinks.

He settles back in the chair. Extends feet in front of him, kicks off his shoes. Uses his right hand to loosen his tie. His collar. This seems to make her happy. He sees the light dance in her eyes a bit. She's enjoying this, he thinks, holding all the cards. All of the power.

Her hand returns to her belt and she tugs it harder now. His breathing quickens. The anticipation. The everloving anticipation. Time seems to pass like molasses.

Finally she takes mercy on him and frees the belt entirely, her coat falling open. Just a sliver. An intoxicating tease. He loves this game. He's sure of it.

The look on her face is bewitching. She is so sure of herself. The confidence radiating out from her. Loving this. Bringing him to his knees.

He's sure his mouth is hanging open. He didn't expect her to be here tonight. Especially not like this. Oh, but he likes this. The force of his…appreciation…surprising him. His hands creep up. Just a fraction of an inch.

She notices, of course. Steps back a half step. Lets the coat fall to the floor. Black coat on the red plush carpet. Fitting.

He sees the lace, black and satin and intricate. Contrasting with her skin. Oh, the lace. He reaches for her and this time she reaches back.

Time passes. How much, he's not sure. Hours? Days? Weeks? Suddenly they're someplace else. Someplace different entirely. He can see her though.

She throws the metal fire door open with a clang. The target has to be right in front of her, she would swear on it. She saw him drop the bag and then tear up this stairwell. She hears Ressler behind her and pauses to pull her weapon from its holster.

The roof of the building has baked in the sun and is now a peeling beige. The HVAC boxes hum and whir noisily, disrupting and drowning out all other sounds.

She sees number thirty-eight before he sees her. He's over by the corner of the retaining wall. Crouching behind a potted unshaped hedge. She can see his hands on the rim. His knee. She advances cautiously swearing under her breath as her foot hits a bit of gravel, the sound of rock hitting metal alerting her target of her approach.

Number thirty-eight jumps up from his hiding place and, surveying the area around him, sees no escape and charges right at her. The darn gravel impedes her ability to react and suddenly she's falling. Falling.

Xxx

Red awakens with a start, a loud shout pulling him from the unconscious to conscious state. Sweat clings to his back, his head, his shoulders. His breathing is heavy, panting, and shallow. He looks down at his white undershirt, sees it sticking to his chest, twisted and pulled. Sees the sheets tangled around his legs and ankles. He realizes the scream came from inside of him, his throat stinging angrily. His heart pounds forcibly, he can feel the vein to the side of his forehead pulsing. Filling his lungs with air he exhales slowly, willing himself to relax. To calm down. No sense in waking Dembe.

He slips his glasses off the bedside table and peers at the alarm clock. The green numbers glow – it's three in the morning. He sighs, falling back against the down pillows. Another night lost. The dream, the damned dream. The good followed by the bad and then the fall. The beginning confuses him, but it's the fall that terrifies him. Seeing her flailing while he stands helpless…somewhere. The dream's forced it's way to the forefront of his brain, sending the first terrifying thought into his consciousness every single morning…she's gone.

He blinks. Eyes dry behind the black rimmed lenses.

But she's not gone. Not really. Thank God. Giving up on sleep he stands, surveys the quiet bedroom, and heads to the shower. Leaning against the shower frame he turns the hot water on full blast and wills the last of vestiges of the night away.

He's in the middle of shaving, the razor pulling through the stiff lather, when the dark seed of doubt starts to creep in. He pauses the up and down of the razor and gives himself a mental shake. Looks into the mirror and sees tired eyes looking back at him. It was just a dream, he tells himself, just a dream.

But he can't shake the uneasy feeling and soon he is sitting in the back seat of his car, the leather black and warm on the back of his legs. Dembe drives towards the latest blacksite. 'We're about 5 minutes out Raymond. No traffic at this hour.'

Xxx

Her hair is coming down from its hasty ponytail. Sweat runs down her face and dampens her black tactical shirt and pants. Her bulletproof vest emblazoned with FBI is still strapped snugly around her torso.

She stands against the cool cement block wall. Puts her hands on her upper legs and bends slightly at the waist. Tries to catch her breath. Rests a minute before going back in.

She hears the screeching of tires on the wet pavement outside. A car door slams and then another. The exterior door to the warehouse swings open and in strides Red. Blue pinstripe shirt and cream vest immaculate despite the surroundings.

'Lizzie,' he says. Jovial tone at odds with the stress evident on his face.

'So glad I caught you.'

He's at her side now. Moves to take her arm in his. Lead her back to the car.

'Red, what are you doing?' She jerks her arm away leaving a black smear across Red's otherwise perfect shirt.

'Something has come up,' he says, 'elsewhere. Let's hop in the car. I'll fill you in on the details.'

'Red, what are you doing?' She repeats herself. 'This is an operation. You gave us his name.' She raises her eyebrows questioningly before turning away and shooting him an exasperated look over her shoulder.

'No Lizzie,' he says it again. 'They,' he gestures broadly in the direction of the building, knowing the rest of her team is still inside, 'can take it from here.'

'Red,' she says. Anger beginning to sharpen her voice. She reaches down and looks to check her weapon and starts to stride towards the interior door.

He advances towards her quickly.

She looks up, feels her body spin, and finds herself staring straight at Red's mouth. She struggles for a second, disoriented, realizing that he has her hands pinned above her head. His hands are encircling her wrists, not letting her move.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. Each inhale pressing his midsection more firmly into hers. He feels her heart beating double time against his chest. Realizes, so out of place, that he's enjoying this…this being so close to her…the touch. His body pressed to hers, aware of hers. The thought confuses him and gives him pause…but he doesn't move away.

'Red,' she's almost yelling now. 'Let. Me. Go.'

He doesn't move his hands from around her wrists. Clears his throat and looks down at her. 'It's not safe,' he says. Knowing she could have saved herself, probably. Then why is he here? The overwhelming desire to lean down and kiss her a sudden onslaught flooding through him…he stiffens and shakes his head. Alarmed at his thoughts. What is he doing?

'Clear, clear.' They hear Ressler's voice from somewhere in the interior. The mission is over.

Red steps back now. Drops her arms. Turns and walks back outside.

She rubs her wrists together, still feeling his touch. Stares after him. Why?


End file.
